


Recruited

by telperion_15



Category: Primeval
Genre: Alternate Universe - Victorian, Community: fandom_stocking, Gen, Humor, Recruitment, Rescue, Women Being Awesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-08
Updated: 2012-02-08
Packaged: 2017-10-30 19:56:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/335485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/telperion_15/pseuds/telperion_15
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rescuers come in all shapes and sizes...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Recruited

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lsellers (Annariel)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Annariel/gifts).



> Originally stuffed in lsellersfic's Fandom Stocking.

  
Cutter hurried along, completely oblivious to all the people jumping swiftly out of his way and then scowling after him as he continued along the street. His eyes were riveted to the sheaf of papers in his hands, and he tried not to let any of them fly away in the cold Autumn breeze as he shuffled through them, trying to remember which page contained the information he sought.  
  
The lecture he’d attended earlier that evening had been positively absurd. He despaired sometimes of the so-called ‘scientists’ who claimed to have made such great breakthroughs in their field. In _his_ field. Why could they not see that they were talking nonsense most of the time?  
  
Still, he supposed he should be grateful to this particular ‘scientist’. He may have been speaking utter tripe, but it had only taken one or two words to spark something in Cutter’s brain, to provide him with a breakthrough of his own on a problem that had been plaguing him for months.  
  
No doubt the rest of audience had been annoyed when he had jumped up and pushed his way out of the lecture theatre right in the middle of the proceedings, but he couldn’t worry about that now. A swift cab ride had taken him back to his lodgings, where he had collected the pile of papers he now held before departing immediately for his next destination. He was sure that Mr Hart would be ecstatic to learn of his new ideas.  
  
So engrossed was he that he didn’t notice the London smog closing in around him, didn’t notice that the streets were becoming emptier and emptier as he neared Hart’s rooms (his colleague lived in a shabbier area of town, a legacy of a disadvantaged upbringing). And he certainly didn’t notice the shadowy figure following him until said figure caught at his arm, muttered “Evening, sir,” in a rough parody of courtesy, and then shoved him into an alleyway.  
  
Cutter blinked at the blade now hovering in front of his face, and then followed it with his eyes as it moved downwards to menace at his throat.  
  
“This doesn’t have to be unpleasant, sir,” continued his assailant. “You hand over your valuables, and I’ll be on my way. No harm, no foul.”  
  
“I don’t have any valuables,” Cutter protested nervously, his fingers unconsciously tightening on the papers he still held. They rustled in his grip, drawing the thief’s attention.  
  
“You sure about that, sir?”  
  
Then, much to Cutter’s surprise, a second figure suddenly rose up behind the thief. “I believe he is,” said a voice. There was something odd about it that Cutter couldn’t quite place, but his puzzlement was quickly overtaken by fear as the thief started in surprise at the interruption, and his knife danced closer to Cutter’s throat.  
  
Cutter closed his eyes, certain that the next thing he would feel would be the blade slicing into his skin. Instead, he heard a crack, a whimper, and then the sound of running feet.  
  
“You may relax now, Professor, he’s gone,” said the same voice, and Cutter’s eyes flew open in surprise as he realised what was different about it.  
  
His gaze lighted on a pair of feet, and then travelled upwards, taking in calves encased in supple leather boots, shapely thighs wearing breeches that would have been scandalous even without being so close-fitting, a corset that was plain and functional, but that nonetheless accentuated some lovely curves and…  
  
“Excuse me.” The words were spoken in a tone of icy hauteur. “Perhaps you could look me in the _eye_ and thank me for saving your life now?”  
  
Cutter’s eyes instantly snapped upwards – there was something in that voice that indicated that _not_ obeying would be a very bad idea – and discovered that the woman’s face was just as attractive as the rest of her.  
  
“My apologies, Miss…?”  
  
“Jennifer Lewis,” said the woman, with a sniff.  
  
“My apologies, Miss Lewis,” said Cutter, looking her square in the eye and injecting as much sincerity into his voice as he could. “Thank you for saving my life.”  
  
A fleeting look of amusement passed across Jennifer Lewis’s face. “You’re lucky I was here,” she said, and Cutter now noticed that she was holding what looked like a short staff in one hand. He suspected she would be very adept at using it.  
  
“Yes, I am,” he replied.  
  
“Actually, luck had nothing to do with it,” she continued, surprising him. “We’ve had our eye on you for some time, Professor Cutter.”  
  
“We?” questioned Cutter.  
  
“The organisation I work for,” elaborated Jennifer Lewis. “We have need of your…expertise, and my employer instructed me to try and recruit you, if I could.”  
  
“Recruit me? And just who might your employer be?” Cutter asked, torn between interest and annoyance.  
  
“James Lester.”  
  
“James Lester? Wait, you mean _Sir_ James Lester? ‘Right-hand man to the Prime Minister’ James Lester?”  
  
“The very one,” replied Jennifer Lewis, looking amused again. “So, are you willing to be recruited, Professor?”  
  
“What am I being recruited for, exactly?”  
  
“I’m afraid I can’t tell you that until you’ve agreed to join us. Secrecy is of the utmost importance. But I can tell you that you’ll find it _very_ interesting indeed. And that it pertains to your work.” Jennifer Lewis’s eyes dropped pointedly to the papers Cutter still held.  
  
“My work? Really?” Cutter thought quickly. He knew next to nothing about this woman, and rumours about Sir James Lester implied that he was involved in some highly secretive – and possibly dangerous – affairs. But he couldn’t deny that his curiosity had been piqued, and something was telling him that he would be a fool to pass up this offer.  
  
“I’m in,” he said decisively. Then, “Oh, wait, my friend, Stephen Hart. He’s involved in my work too. I can’t just leave him out of this.”  
  
“My colleague Sarah Page should be collecting him as we speak,” Jennifer Lewis replied. “Sir James felt it would be politic to bring both of you on to the project.”  
  
“Sarah Page? Are you all women?” Cutter asked, before he could stop himself.  
  
Jennifer Lewis gave him a look that very plainly said, _And how else do you expect us to get anything done?_  
  
Cutter quickly bowed his head in meek apology, and heard what might have been a small huff of laughter escape Jennifer Lewis’s lips.  
  
“Come along, Professor,” she said. “I’ll introduce you to Sir James, and he can tell you and Mr Hart more about our project. I think I can promise you that you won’t regret joining us.”  
  
As Jennifer Lewis strode away, beckoning him to follow, Cutter quickly gathered himself and hurried after her. Life, it appeared, was about to get rather interesting.


End file.
